Chapter Four: Foreshadowing
The plan had been set: They were to move to Japan in about three weeks, and then they were going to have about a week to settle in. The timeframe seemed small, but the entire situation was going well. Melissa and Jeremy had already been granted international citizenry (thanks to a new joint UN/USA law passed the year before their birth), and the forms for William, Amy, and Doan would be completed within the next week or so.
Other preparations were going equally as well: All the necessary things were packed (furniture would be provided, so there was no need to worry about getting it across the Atlantic and though Europe), and Mrs. Scott and the children were quickly learning basic Japanese. Mr. Scott was having a bit more trouble; Doan had learned to speak it almost fluently within three days.
However, they were still in need of things to travel with – luggage, bags, coats, etc. – and so Doan was on his way to go and buy some of the essentials for himself and the family.
He had no idea what he was walking into.
Wycost couldn't believe what he was seeing.
Two repiloids had – while laughing maniacly - just thrown a sales clerk through the window of the local World-Worth outlet; he was covered in glass, but had luckily managed to avoid getting seriously cut. Two other offices had dragged him to safely behind the SWAT truck, where the humans of the task force were ducking for cover from the constant hail of magnetically accelerated pistol rounds and white-hot plasma fire coming from the five robots in the store.
No, not robots, Wycost corrected himself: repiloids. Mavericks. His com-unit chirped, and he grabbed it irrtably.
"WHAT?!" The response on the other end was maddeningly calm; the robotic dispatcher ignored the outburst. "Sir, we have confirmation on those back-up units you wanted, as well as the negotiator."
"…AND?" The robot hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to deliver the bad news to the obviously irate Wycost. "The two SWAT units are denied, as well as the negotiator. Your orders are to eliminate the rouge repiloids."
And the com-unit chirped off again.
"FRACK IT!!" Wycost turned to his second in command, another green repiloid named Harrison. "Harry! What's our status?" Harry ducked behind the patrol car after returning fire, and pulled up a data-pad. "Not good, boss. We just can't match the firepower they have. I mean, five busters and a mag-pistol is pretty hard to…" Wycost cut him off mid-sentence.
"What do we have, dammit?" Harry looked at his CO sullenly. "You, me, and the four humans pinned down behind the SWAT van." Wycost's rather colorful response was not suitable for print. "Damn… So, in short of a miracle, we're screwed…" Harrison didn't say anything; there wasn't anything to be said.
And suddenly the shooting stopped.
Wycost froze. If they had stopped firing, it could only mean – oh, no, not that. Oh god, no…
"EVERYBODY GET DOWN!"
Doan whistled as he walked down the street, happy to be leaving the Bronx. Well, for the most part; true, it was grimy and tough, with little room for error, but it wasn't all bad. Wycost was here, his only friend aside from the Scotts, and –
"AHHH!"
His train of thought was suddenly derailed as an explosion from around the corner knocked him off his feet. Others in the street screamed and ducked for cover. Doan rose, shaking his head and wondering what the hell had just happened. He rushed around the corner, and was stunned at what he saw.
Almost a mile down the street, the SWAT van that the human officers had been taking cover behind had been obliterated. What remained was a burning hulk of twisted metal, blackened by the immense power of five charged plasma blasts. Only one cop remained, still alive somehow, but injured. When Doan panned around, what he saw shocked him.
Wycost was ducking along with another green police repiloid behind a severely damaged patrol car, and were returning fire into the store Doan had planned on buying luggage from.
He gawked at what the incredulity of the scene; he had wanted to say good bye to his friend, although this wasn't exactly how he had intended to do it…
Not sure of what to do, he ran as fast as he could to his crouching friend, doing his best to keep his head low and avoid getting killed. When he finally made it to the two repiloids, Wycost's reaction wasn't what he had anticipated.
"WHAT THE FRACK ARE YOU DOING HERE?!" Doan recoiled a little at the hostile response. "Uh, well, I was on my way to get some bags, and…" He trailed off, still not sure of what to do. Wycost sighed. "Well, so long as you're here, I might as well make use of you. You have a buster?" Doan was a little taken aback at the question. Of course he had a buster; almost all repiloids had one, of one sort or another.
He nodded, and formed his left hand into a pitifully weak plasma buster. Wycost almost laughed when he saw it. "What the? – what's the output on that thing?" Doan was hesitant to answer: "Umm… 100 kilo-watts." Wycost's response was slow coming. "And you're supposed to use that thing to hurt people?" Doan recoiled. "Well, actually, I've never used it before, except on tin cans." Wycost almost made a smart remark, but stopped himself short. Harrison payed them no heed; he was busy returning fire.
Inside the store, five repiloids were having the time of their lives.
"HOO-YEAH! Duck little man! Duck before I blow your fracking head off!" The yellow construction repiloid screamed at the top of his voice-box level as he fired off searing hot blasts of fire at the remaining police forces. He turned to his compatriots and grinned. "Hot damn, fellas! I never knew this could be so much fun!" The other repiloids grinned back. They weren't really thinking anymore; the only thing their insane minds were bent on now was death.
And they were fully capable of dealing it out.
"Awright, look: what was the greatest range that you could hit something with that peashooter in one shot?" Doan thought for half a second, "About seventy yards or so… why?" Wycost grinned. "I may just have a use for you yet."
He turned to Harry. "Hey, Harry – see if anyone's still alive over at the truck." Harry brought his com-unit up, and Wycost turned back to Doan. "Okay, look, here's what we're gonna do: You and Harrison are gonna provide me with some cover fire…" Harrison turned back to Wycost, "Hey boss! One of the humans is still alive, and says he can still shoot!" Wycost grinned. "Awright! We just might be able to do this. Tell him to cover me. I'm gonna rush the guys in the store."
Doan and Harry looked at the green repiloid as though he had just lost his mind. Doan was the first to reply: "ARE YOU FRACKING NUTS?!" Wycost turned to his silver friend. "Hey, these guys are, and we sure as hell ain't getting any younger…" Harry spoke up, "Okay, boss. Just give the word." Doan looked up with a weak grin. "Yeah – why not?" Wycost grinned again.
"Okay, then. HERE WE GO!"
As soon as he had a full charge on his buster, Wycost leaped from cover as Doan and Harison blasted away at the mavericks. Doan managed to hit two dead on; it wasn't enough to really hurt them, but Harrison's more powerful buster made up for lost time.
As they did so, Wycost managed to hit one maverick, and send him sprawling in a mess of charred armor. The green repiloid had just enough time to get to the ruined SWAT van and take cover again.
When he saw what remained of the three dead officers, he nearly lost it. The last officer – a lean man named O'Hara – was slamming the last clip he had of mag-rounds into his pistol, and jumped when he saw the green repiloid, bringing the barrel of his gun level with his fellow officer's head.
"Fer' chrissakes, Wycost, don't do that to a man! There's only so much a guy can take!" Wycost looked over the human, and knew that if this didn't end soon, the death toll was going to go up by one. Another family would loose a father; Wycost wouldn't let that happen.
"DAMMIT!" The maverick with the mag-pistol had just been turned to slag; even his control chip housing was a molten mass of carbon. The other mavericks doubled up on their offensive firing; semi-charged shots flew through the air, as the smell of ozone filled the smoky department store.
"I'M GONNA MAKE YOU PAY YOU FRACKING BASTARDS!!" The smallish general-purpose repiloid fired his modified buster for all it was worth, pushing the safety limit on the heat sinks to their limit. He didn't care. He was a maverick.
There were three remaining mavericks in the store; Wycost knew that for this to end, they were going to have to die. They would not surrender. Mavericks never surrendered. Wycost brought his com-unit up. "Harrison! Charge your buster and take the one on the left!" Harry nodded. "Got it!" Doan looked at the green repiloid. "What are you gonna do?" Harrison grinned. "Be a hero. Hell, maybe even…" Harry never got to finish his sentence. A charged blast of plasma struck the car, and continued on – taking Harry with it and throwing Doan back and away from the squad car.
When he looked up again, he wished he hadn't. Harry's entire lower half was missing; his artificial entrails were sprawled under him, as purple repiloid blood flowed out in a constant, sickening stream.
Doan could hardly believe what had just happened. He stared in stunned, sickened silence as Harrison bled to death.
"HOO-YEAH! I got one! I got one!" The small maverick was getting high-fives from his buddies between plasma shots.
"…Doan…" Doan looked up from his tears at Harrison, who had his head turned towards the silver repiloid. "Doan… my buster… take…" Harry's eyes closed and his breath sputtered as the last of his power blinked out.
"Harry… Harry?… HARRY! GET UP! HARRY, GET UP!" Doan shook the green police repiloid, desperate for him to wake up.
Harry's eyes never opened.
Doan remembered, somehow, what Harrison had wanted him to do. He removed the police officer's buster with practiced precision, and replaced his own with it. He watched as the reactive metal seamlessly slid over his hand.
Harry would not die in vain.
"Nice shot little man!" The smallish maverick turned to his compatriot and grinned insanely. "Damn straight! AND I'LL GET ANOTHER TOO!" His comment died away in a screaming howl of twisted laughter and plasma fire, emanating from his buster.
"Harry… I'm sorry…" Doan sobbed quietly amongst the plasma bursts as he began to charge the X-Buster to its maximum capacity. His left arm whined as white-hot fire built up to dangerous levels, the safety regulator having been deactivated. Doan's face grew contorted with rage, and had anyone been able to see him, they would have cringed.
"YOU FRACKING BASTARDS!!" In a swift move, Doan emerged from behind the squad car and let loose his vengeance. The mavericks inside didn't even have time to react: the interior of the store erupted in an explosion of charred remnants of suitcases and duffel bags; the micro-fusion tank reactors in the chests of the insane repiloids went critical, blue plasma fire tearing their bodies apart as they screamed with their last breaths.
"HOLY HELL! What the frack was that?!" Wycost emerged quietly from behind the ruined squad car, and gazed at the store. He stared in awe: The entire front of the building had been charred and blackened, smoke rising from virtually every surface. The inside was even worse – some materials had fused together in the intense heat, producing shapes that were unrecognizable to the eye.
Wycost looked around in astonishment, wondering what had caused the eruption of fire. His optics searched the area until a hazy figure came into view, it's X-Buster still raised and smoking. "Harry? …Harry?" Wycost looked on as the smoke cleared. It was Doan; his silver armor covered in soot, blackened to the color of brushed pewter. His face held an expression of shock, as though he couldn't believe what he had just done.
"DOAN! Holy hell! Are you alright?" Wycost rushed over to the stunned Doan, who stood awkwardly. Fire-engine sirens sounded in the distance, growing closer with every passing moment.
Doan looked on past Wycost into nothingness, his optics glazed over, his gaze distant and hollow. Wycost shook him, yelled at him, tried everything he could to awaken his shocked friend.
"Doan… Doan… Wake up, man!" Doan shook himself from his rest cycle, and looked up into the face of a repiloid medic, and the worried face of Wycost, covered in soot and ash.
He groaned as he sat up on the medical palate, reaching for his head with his left hand. And then he realized he had no hand.
"AUUGH! AHH! AH! AHHHH!" He screamed, panicking, grasping at the hollow stump of his wrist. MY HAND! What happened to my hand?! What happened-
With a solid THWOCK, Wycost slugged the smaller repiloid and sent him sprawling back onto the palate. He shouted at Doan irritably.
"Your hand's in the buster, you damned idiot!!" Doan opened his eyes slowly, and brought his left hand into his view with worry. When he saw the port of the buster, he sighed with relief, and rose embarrassed. Wycost was rubbing the bridge of his nose with his middle and fore fingers in irritation.
"Geeze, man, get a grip. I didn't want to hit you, but…" Wycost trailed off as Doan rose off of the cot and looked at the scene around him, stoically taking it in.
The store had been burned to slag, and was covered in the chemical solution that the fire-fighters had used to put out the remaining fires. The "World-Worth" sign on the front had been blackened and decayed by the firefight, and parts of it had dropped to the ground, also covered in flame-retardant chemicals.
As Doan looked to the interior of the store, he saw police crews removing what was left of the repiloids – mavericks – inside. The people I…
"ARRRGH!" Doan collapsed to the ground, gripping his head in pain. Shaking it in disbelief. "No… no… I couldn't have… I can't… no…" Wycost looked on morosely. He had seen this happen before. No one ever really wants to take a life, even if it had been the life of a maverick. He picked up the sobbing Doan and quietly led him away, taking careful aims to keep him away from the repiloid and human coroners.